


Life and Death in a Ghost Town

by Romansleftshoulderpad



Category: Phantom Manor (Ride), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Murder, Does that make sense??? don't care actually, Guns, It's a phantom manor AU okay, M/M, Misgendering, Natural Disasters, Oh boy this is getting long, Past Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Remy and Emile are mentioned but not present, Successful murder, Trans Characters, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, disney parks extended universe, emotional abusive fathers, implied transphobia (background), just the one father really but, sanders sides human au, the 2019 update doesn't exist but is referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romansleftshoulderpad/pseuds/Romansleftshoulderpad
Summary: Love, death, and mystery abound in Thunder Mesa. Roman often wonders if he'll ever find a way out of the dreary old town. Over three hundred years later, Virgil and Logan find themselves wondering the exact same thing...
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Life and Death in a Ghost Town

Thunder Mesa is a ghost town. There’s more tumbleweeds than people and more gravestones than tumbleweeds. Walking through it all was like walking back in time, or at least Virgil thought so. He had heard of this place in its prime, a bustling town with the potential for so much more. He let out a deep breath, stopping for a moment of memorial for the bustling town with so many lives lost. 

Thunder Mesa sat between Big Thunder Mountain and Ravenswood Manor- two looming and massive presences. The mountain was the heart and sole of the town, said to be home to the Thunderbird, though to most citizens it was just the home of The Big Thunder Mining Company. If not for the ore in that mountain there would be no Thunder Mesa. And with no Thunder Mesa, Patton and Roman might’ve never met.    
  
_ So Patton smiled, looking at that big mountain, as he headed out from work. There was a river, just at the border of town and he knew Roman was waiting for him. They had done this a million times after being together for years. But he still couldn’t stop smiling.  _

_ “Roman, my love,” he said with a smile.  _

Logan’s fingers brushed over an old wooden sign. When he drew back his fingers were covered in dust and splinters. “Tell me why you’re here again?”

“Some old work friends told me to scope it out,” Virgil said. 

Logan eyed the badge sticking out of Virgil’s pocket. “Right,” he murmured.  _ “Work.” _

Virgil shot him a glare and inconspicuously pushed the badge further down into his pocket. “Like I said, old work friends.”

“These friends wouldn’t happen to be Hightowers would they?”

“You look into  _ one-” _

Logan raised an eyebrow. 

“- _ two  _ murders, and this is how you get treated.”

“You’re more melodramatic than Remy, are you aware?” 

“Who’s talking about Hightowers now?” Virgil teased.

_ “Patton,” Roman greeted with a smile. “It’s so good to see you.” _

_ “And it’s always a pleasure to see you, my prince,” he said with a bow causing Roman to laugh. “I hope such a  _ handsome _ prince can forgive the appearance of a humble foreman who has come straight from work.” _

_ “Your apology is accepted,” Roman said with a smile.  _

_ Patton couldn’t help but smile just  _ listening _ to his voice. He had an accent like none Patton had ever heard before but it was so wondrous to hear. And to  _ gaze _ upon his love was even more wonderful. Waiting in the sunlight had caused his cheeks to tint pink and a trail of freckles to appear, beckoning Patton to kiss each and every single one of them. He had curly, brown hair that looked so soft to brush your fingers through if only he could. The sun was setting over Thunder Mesa and the golden light shone around Roman like a halo. In awe, Patton simply whispered, “Angel.” _

_ Ravenswood Manor looked over the entire town. Janus Ravenswood looked over everyone and everything. He gazed proudly over the lanterns lighting up Big Thunder Mountain and the workers. Each second another dollar. Every moment another year to his legacy. Ravenswood Manor looked over the entire town, large and haunting. Big Thunder Mountain might have been the heart of Thunder Mesa, but the mansion was the eyes that saw everything. And Thunder Mesa was no stranger to the darkness.  _

“So... what even  _ happened  _ here?” Logan asked.

“Big ass earthquake,” Virgil said. “Legends say a spirit lives in the mountain and the miners angered it.”

“An interesting theory.”

“After it hit those who weren’t dead moved out.” He glanced at an elderly man walking down the sidewalk. “Most of them anyway. I guess a few families stayed.” 

_ “Patton, my love, you are far too kind,” Roman said, touching the side of his face. _

_ Patton blushed, “My love, it isn’t decent to be so affectionate in public. Especially given the- well-  _ circumstances _ of our relationship.” _

_ Roman kissed him softly. “Then it’s a rather good thing we’re alone.” _

_ Patton couldn’t help the blush spreading through his face. “You are far braver than I, my prince.” _

_ “Because I  _ dream, _ Patton,” he said. “I dream of being far away from Thunder Mesa one day.” _

_ “And I will get you there,” he promised. “When will you tell your father about me, my prince?” _

_ Roman stiffened. “My father knows plenty about you. You’ve met on several occasions.” _

_ Patton took his hands. “You know what I mean, darlin’. When will you tell your father about  _ this?”

_ “My father is a very... traditional man.” _

_ “You don’t have to tell him everything.” _

_ “If we are- well we  _ are-”

_ “It’s okay, Roman.” _

_ “He would need to give you his  _ blessing- _ give  _ us _ his blessing- and I am... afraid he will disapprove,” Roman confessed. “You’re wonderful, Patton. And I  _ love _ you, I wouldn’t give you up for all the money in the world. But... my father might disagree with such a sentiment.” _

_ “I’m a hard worker. I can prove to him I can keep you comfortable.” _

_ “I don’t need comfort, Patton. I need you,” Roman said. “And I need to leave Thunder Mesa.” _

_ “You will. As soon as I get enough money to my name, we’re getting as far away from this life as possible. And I’ll be with you. In this life, in the next, and everything after that." _

_ “Together,” Roman said with a smile, taking his hand. “Forever.” _

“And the Ravenswoods?” Logan asked. “I presume the ‘big ass earthquake’, as you put it, perished them as well.”

“There was Janus and Martha,” he said. “Their daughter, Princess of Thunder Mesa, Melanie.” Virgil turned around to face him, something unreadable in his eyes. “You know why we aren’t dealing with the Hightowers, Logan?” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We’re not dealing with them  _ because,”  _ Virgil said, “even those wreckless morons know better than to come here.”

Logan pursed his lips in silence, glancing back at the house. The lawn was overgrown and dying and the house itself seemed to have a rot to it. He noticed the curtains moving in one of the windows. Virgil was mumbling something to himself but Logan didn’t try to listen. He was too captivated by the haunting house.

He pulled out his camera and took a picture, continuing his walk with Virgil soon after, and failing to notice how the movement of the curtains had completely faltered. 

_ Janus stepped away from the window to address a maid, “Where is my daughter? I feel as though I haven’t seen her in ages.” _

_ “She’s in her bedroom, Master Ravenswood,” the maid said. “Shall I fetch her for you?”  _

_ “No need, just tell the cook to have dinner ready soon.” _

_ “Right away, Master Ravenswood.” _

_ He walked through the long hallways of the manor, thinking of the mountain just outside the window. “Cursed,” they had told him. He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Curses’, what a foolish thing to believe in. ‘Curses’ would have stopped him from building his legacy. ‘Curses’ only exist to the fools and idiots who let them.  _

“So, what do you know about this family? Must be pretty damned if even  _ Remy  _ won’t show his face.”

“I think they’re more afraid of the town than the manor,” Virgil said. “There’s still a few distant cousins around, but no one of note can contact them.”

“Have you tried?” 

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I’m still part of the Falls family, believe it or not, I  _ am  _ still someone of note.”

“In your secret society, yes.”

He rolled his eyes. “There’s no secret society. And stop trying to pickpocket me. I can see your hand.”

“Right. Just work.”

“I’m a reporter.”

Logan hummed in faux agreement. “And I’m sure Emile is also a reporter.”

“Nope, he’s just Remy’s fiance. I can honestly say I’ve never worked with him- mostly legal reasons because I hear he’s a  _ great  _ therapist but then there’s all these rules about-”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse-”

“Shh.” Logan whispered, “Do you hear that?” 

An eagle cry echoed through the town.

“Sounds like it’s coming from the mountain.”

“Yeah, Logan, there’s a bird, big deal.”

Logan looked at him and sighed, his badge was sticking out of his pocket again, and the cursive  _ “E”  _ was particularly shiny in the light. He often wished Virgil would stop  _ pretending.  _ Though, a secret society wouldn’t be very secret if Alberta Fall’s estranged nephew went off and told everyone. Still, Logan found himself often thinking that if Virgil was going to drag him exploring and adventuring, he might as well  _ tell  _ him about it!

“These streets were bustling once,” a man shouted at them. “Until everybody got too damn old!”

_ Roman enjoyed walking through the town. It was lively, with little boys selling newspapers and men drinking at the bars and taverns. Though he suspected it would have been a lot nicer with less of a reputation. Less civilians gawking at him. Less heat blazing upon him.  _

_ Less  _ eyes _. “Didn’t your mothers teach you that it’s rude to stare?!” he yelled, trying his best to ignore the laughing crowd as he walked by. If not for Patton, he wondered if he would’ve left Thunder Mesa long ago. If not for Patton, he wondered if he’d ever have the  _ chance _ to.  _

_ There was a bar with men drinking and laughing. Roman wished he could hide in the crowd and just be someone by being no one. But he had a reputation to maintain.  _

The bar seemed more broken and rotted than anything else in town. Virgil slipped behind the bar and did some digging under the shelves and cabinets. Logan was taking pictures of everything around them: signs, broken tables, gas lamps that had long been out of use. 

“Oh, ho, ho, look what I found,” Virgil said, pulling himself and a bottle up on the bar. He moved the bottle around the air to show it off. “Earthquake wine.”

“That’s so old.”

“Vintage! Aged to perfection, even!”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you drink on the job.”

“You’re no fun,” he complained, stuffing the bottle into his backpack. 

“That’s a crime.”

“Oh nooo, the ghost of the sheriff is going to arrest me.”

“People are still living here, we just saw them. They can arrest you.”

“Work can handle it,” he said, brushing off Logan’s concerns. “I’ll make Remy deal with the paperwork.”

“Does that mean Aunt Alberta has stopped dealing with your bullshit?” Logan teased.

“Aunt Alberta is  _ retired,”  _ he corrected.

“Because she wished to no longer deal with the paperwork of your bullshittery.”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted, “that was her main reason.”

Logan laughed, snapping a quick picture of Virgil before putting his camera away. They exited the bar from a hidden side door and walked around the block, taking pictures and notes of anything that seemed worthwhile. They had spoken to a few loving residents about the town and the families that had stayed and Logan found it worth noting that no one had actually moved  _ to  _ Thunder Mesa, as if it existed separately from the rest of the world. As if the outside world was afraid of it. 

“And what are two nice young men like you doing in this town?” An old woman, Gertrude, had asked them. 

“I’m a reporter doing some investigations on various towns and cities, travel guides mostly,” Virgil said with a smile. For someone who hated lying, he was scarily good at it. 

“And you?” She turned to Logan. 

“Oh, I’m-”

“He’s a partner,” Virgil answered. “An investigative partner. He helps compile photo data to go along with my stories.”

“Logan Sanders,” he introduced himself, shaking her hand. 

“Well, Mr. Investigators, don’t get into too much trouble,” she teased.

“Don’t worry about us, Ma’am! We just need to get some pictures of that old manor and we’ll be on our way back home.”

“Oh, you best be  _ very  _ careful then,” Gertrude warned. “Legend says that old manor is haunted!”

Virgil started booking it towards the manor. Logan sighed.

“I must apologize for his rashness, but I must go after him before he does anything regretful,” he said.

“Have fun at Phantom Manor,” the woman teased, waving them off. 

“Virgil!” Logan yelled. “Virgil, slow down!”

_ “Patton!” Roman laughed. “Where are you taking me?” _

_ “Somewhere _ wonderful!” _ Patton yelled. The two were on horseback, riding off into the empty desert far away from towns and civilization.  _

_ “My love, we are nowhere!” _

_ “Nowhere can be everything, darlin’!” he announced proudly. “And everything means  _ us.”

_ “Us.” _

_ He whispered, “Two cowboys in love.” _

_ “I’m far from a cowboy,” Roman confessed. “I wish I knew how to be tough and strong like you and the other miners.” _

_ “Roman, my love, you’re the strongest person I know.”  _

_ “Patton,” he whispered.  _

_ Patton brushed his fingers against Roman’s cheeks and pulled him in close, kissing him softly under the bright sun.  _

_ “Someone will find us one of these days.” _

_ “No one will find us, I’ll make sure of that.” _

_ Roman pressed their foreheads together, keeping a hand over Patton’s heart. “I am torn, my love, for I know that in being myself I must give up the part of me that longs to show my love to you to all.” _

_ “I know you love me and, for me, that’s enough,” he said. “I will marry Melanie, but I will promise to love and to cherish  _ Roman.”

_ Tears fell down his cheeks as he held Patton close. “I love you. And I’ll tell my father about you. Any day now.” _

_ “Don’t rush yourself, my love.” _

_ “I’m telling him because I  _ want _ to. Because I want to marry you.” _

“I want to get out of this hellscape,” Logan mumbled. The snap of his camera seemed to echo around them. 

“It’s only a little more of a hike, don’t be a baby.”

“Your job should really be paying me.”

“Yeah? Maybe if you work hard enough the secret society will let you in,” Virgil teases, sending a wink over his shoulder to Logan. 

“Wait- Really?!”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “For the  _ millionth time,  _ there is  _ no  _ secret society.”

“Which is your way of telling me there  _ is  _ a secret society.”

“You’re turning into Emile, I hope you know that.”

Logan smirked to himself. “I think Emile and I have more in common than you realize.”

“I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

“We weren’t,” he admitted. For a while it was hard to imagine ever even  _ talking  _ to Emile, the only time they saw each other was at parties with these so called “work friends” when Virgil needed a guest to avoid looking like “more of a loser than the monkey” as he had put it. Emile was often glued to Remy’s side, only really talking to Virgil and a few of Remy’s estranged relatives (another issue Logan saw with Virgil’s “work friends” excuse as their get togethers were more often family reunions between the various Hightowers, Mystics, Oceaneers, Falls, and anyone else lucky enough to be allowed into the society because of birthright). “That is, until I had offhandedly mentioned watching Gravity Falls and, well, you know Emile.”

“Yeah, that’s Emile.”

Logan snapped another photo of the house. They were closer now, yet still not quite there. He saw movement in the curtains. Before he could tell himself it was nothing, he saw a face. A  _ human woman’s face.  _ He would deny the scream he let out but Virgil wouldn’t offer his dignity quite the same mercy. “What the  _ fuck  _ was that?!” 

Virgil shrugged, pulling out his notebook and scribbling something down. “A maid, probably. There’s still staff maintaining the property.”

_ “Why?”  _ Logan asked. “And why no gardener?”

He shrugged again. “Like I said, there’s still distant family members. If you can get any of them to talk to you, have fun asking about the gardener.” He adjusted his bag and kept hiking. “Come on, time’s a wastin’.”

_ The gardeners were watering flowers and tending to the lawn, just like they always were. Just like they always would be. The maids were dusting the same shelves and washing the same windows. Everything was as it was the day before. Everything was as it would be tomorrow. Everything was stuck in a dreadful loop. Everything was stuck in a dreadful loop. Everything was stuck in a dreadful... _

_ Why did Roman feel as though everything was about to change? _

_ It would, wouldn’t it? His wedding dress would be the last dress he ever wore. _

_ Every second felt like a new beginning. He kept writing the same letter over and over again, writing to get his mind off of change. Writing to get his mind off of mundanity and cycles. _

_ He kept writing. _

_ Every passing second felt like the start of a new paragraph. _

Every passing second felt like an hour while climbing uphill. Logan thought about their hotel room, where comfy beds were waiting for tired reporters to sleep in. He thought about the plane, just air conditioning and free movies and letting a machine do the impossible journey for him. He thought about being in his own house and just saying “no thanks” next time Virgil wanted to drag him to a new “fun work trip.” But he knew himself better than that and how curiosity would always kill him. 

He kept hiking.

_ He kept writing. _

_ There was a knock at the door and he quickly stuffed his papers, with ink still wet, into the drawer of his vanity. He caught his reflection in the mirror and took a moment to study himself. His hair fell in curls past his shoulders and everything about his face was dainty and soft. Looking in the mirror, he found himself, unmistakably, looking at a woman. But he knew that was what he wasn’t. There was another knock at the door. He had to get out of Thunder Mesa. _

_ “You may enter,” he called at the door, fixing his posture and turning away from the mirror.  _

_ A maid entered, standing stiffly as if her spine were made of glass. “Your father is ready to speak with you.”  _

_ He felt his stomach drop and his pulse begin to race. He took a deep breath.  _ You want this, _ he reminded himself.  _ For Patton. _ “And where might I find my father?”  _

_ “He was in the garden last time I saw him,” the maid said. “He should be there waiting for you now.” _

_ “Thank you,” he said, standing up and smoothing out the wrinkles of his dress. “You may be dismissed.” _

_ The garden was beautiful. Plush green grass and golden and pink flowers lined the path. Roman knew he could spend hours just admiring it all.  _ _   
_ _   
_ At the edge of the garden was a rad gazebo with glass walls and a table in the middle. Virgil wiped his finger over the glass, looking at the streak he had created in the middle of the dust. 

“I wonder what it would be like to live here,” he said. “Not  _ now  _ but, you know, working.”

“In the Victorian Era?” Logan asked with a raised eyebrow. He watched the flash of his camera reflect dully off of the dirty glass. “This thing is disgusting.”

“Working in its Victorian Era with ideals a  _ little better  _ than we have today,” Virgil said.

“Cheers to that.”

“I still have wine,” he said with a wink.    


“Save it for the hotel, we’re still not drinking on duty.”

“We?” Virgil teased. “This is only my job.”

“And yet, you can’t be trusted to take any photographic evidence.” He took a picture of Virgil’s glare. “You need me.”

“The Mystics have plenty of monkeys I can replace you with. So watch out.” 

Logan took another picture of the gazebo. Light shined through the glass and, sometimes, when the sun hit it just right, a rainbow crossed the table. 

_ Janus had been waiting there, drinking a cup of tea and occasionally sending glares to any gardeners that appeared tired or fatigued.  _

_ “Father!” Roman called, curtseying in front of him. “The maids told me I would find you here.” _

_ “Yes, well, I would hope they can relay information accurately.” _

_ Roman took a breath and tried to settle his heart rate once more. “Right, well, there was a particular matter I wanted to speak with you about.” _

_ “Yes, but do be try to be quick about it, ma fille, Captain Falls is meeting with me soon.” _

_ “Rowan?” he asked. “I... wasn’t aware he was in town." _

_ “Only shortly, thankfully,” Janus said with a look of disgust that Roman had known quite well. The disgust all his previous suitors had been met with. But Patton was different! He had to be. He  _ had _ to be...  _

_ “What business does he have here?” Roman asked. _

_ “Well someone is rather curious today, aren’t you?”  _

_ “I’ve been told it’s a habit of mine.” _

_ “I’ve asked Rowan to do some transportation for me,” Janus admitted. “Expanding the company and all that. We can’t be tied down to just Thunder Mesa after all.” _

_ “Of course,” Roman agreed. He made a mental note to get far away from the mining company as well as the town.  _

_ “Now I’m more than aware of your  _ previous _ relations with Captain Falls,” his face looked as if he were eating lemons with each word. “That is  _ previous _ , isn’t it?” _

_ “That’s actually the matter of which I wished to speak with you about.” _

“Melanie,” _ he warned.  _

_ “I’m not with Rowan!” he yelled. “For lack of better wording, that ship has long since sailed!” _

_ Janus stared off into the distance, perhaps even recomposing himself. “Then what was it you wished to speak of?” _

_ “Your day shift foreman,” he said carefully. “Patton Evans.” _

_ “Evans is a fine worker.” _

_ “He and I have been meeting.” _

_ “Meeting?” _

_ Roman’s heart was beating out of his chest and he felt as though he might throw up. “We wanted your blessing for our marriage.” _

_ “No! Absolutely not!” _

_ “But  _ father-!”

_ “He clearly doesn’t even have the courage to face me himself-” _

_ “Asking you was  _ my _ idea!” _

_ “Do  _ not _ speak to me out of turn!” He yelled.  _

_ Roman stiffened, trying not to cry. He had never seen his father so angry before.  _

_ “You must learn your place in the world, Melanie. You are not to be sullying our high reputation with a  _ lower _ class,” he said. _

_ “I love him!”  _

_ “Don’t be a  _ stupid _ girl. Love is worthless if it’s penniless.” Janus stared down at him, that disgust from earlier still on his face but with something much worse in his eyes. Pity. “Go back up to your room until you’re ready to think rationally.” _

_ An eagle cried out overhead. _

_ “Your  _ room _ , Melanie. Get out of my sight.” _

An eagle cried again, louder, like a response. Like a message. Like a warning.

“They sure are noisy birds, aren’t they?” Logan commented. He looked out at the town. It all looked so small now. So far away. 

_ It all felt so small that night. So far away. So very, very far. The earth was shaking, breaking, destroying those who destroyed it. It was all there and then with Roman in the middle of it.  _

_ But he was far. _

_ So very far away. _

_ He longed for France as a child might long for a dream after waking up to the harsh realities of the world. He longed for France and la Sienne. He longed for a world where he could  _ exist _. A boy. A strong, tough boy who didn’t have to hide from loving Patton. He could stand at the center of Paris and yell to the world “I am Roman Ravenswood! And I love none more than I love Patton Evans!” And the world would not care. No, no it  _ would _ care. But it would celebrate. The world would look at these two boys and the way they loved one another and it would cheer.  _

_ There would be parades. There would be happiness. _

_ They would be Nowhere. Patton and Roman, in the middle of Nowhere, holding onto each other and laughing, smiling, kissing,  _ loving _. “Oh, God, is that too much to ask?”  _

_ He closed his eyes, losing himself in every memory of Patton’s lips on his. The ghost of Patton’s touch caressing over his face. He longed for the ways they could touch after they were married.  _

_ The world was burning. Everything was falling apart at the seams as innocent lives perished in the debris. The world was dead outside his window. But Patton Evans... he was Heaven. _

_ The eagles cried out the next morning. In celebration? In grief? In pride? In mockery? No one knew. Thunder Mesa was dead. Roman walked down the streets with a servant by his side. Buildings were trashed. Dead bodies laid in the streets and mourners wailed by their sides. The stench of death nearly caused Roman to vomit on multiple occasions. There were more tumbleweeds than residents left in Thunder Mesa. _

_ And more dead bodies than tumbleweeds.  _

_ He met eyes with a miner at the end of the road. A foreman. _

_ “Patton!” he yelled, running towards him. _

_ “Ro- Ravenswood!” he yelled, doing just the same.  _

_ They met in a dizzying crash, both nearly falling over but managing to keep each other upright. Roman began to sob, holding Patton tighter than he ever had before. “Patton, I- I thought you might’ve- I was so worried! I- I cannot bear to live without-” _

_ “Shhh, shhh,” Patton held his hands against Roman’s head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m here, darlin’, and I’m not going anywhere. You won’t have to live without me. Not for years and years and years.” _

_ “Oh, Patton, not ever. I couldn’t bear it!” _

_ Patton moved his hands to cup Roman’s cheeks and kissed him softly, grounding him. Letting him know it was okay to be Nowhere if you couldn’t be Somewhere. Neither of them wanted to pull away, but Roman knew his father’s staff was still watching them. He had no choice.  _

_ “What other news is there?” _

_ “Darlin’, I’m sorry,” Patton said. “Your father was down in there and Misses Martha ran after him- I tried to stop her, honest, I did-” _

_ “Oh,” Roman whispered as the realization hit. “They’re dead.” _

_ “I’m afraid so.” _

_ “Well, then...” He let the air settle around them, let the cries of wives and parents ring through his ears until he could feel mercy and mourning no longer. “I suppose, with my parents dead, that... there’s no one to object to our marriage.” _

_ “Darlin’?” _

_ Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and snapped his fingers to call over his servant. “Come! There’s important things to plan!” _

_ Patton leaned up to his ear and whispered, “Roman, there are _ funerals _.” _

_ “A disaster has stricken, my love. The people need something good.” _

Logan looked to the mountain, waiting for another cry. Virgil was sitting in the middle of the dead garden on top of a stone path cutting pieces of apple with a pocket knife. Logan was flipping through Virgil’s notebook which sat on his knee while looking through the photos on his camera. 

“The earthquake was terrible,” said one of the citizens that they had spoken with. “But that was only the start.”

“It was?” he had questioned. 

“Legends spoke of Hell raising after that day,” he said. “Phantoms, skeletons, a blue woman who lives in a glass ball.”

“Well that  _ last one _ is just ridiculous,” Logan murmured. 

The man leaned closer to them and whispered, “some say the phantom still haunts this town to this very day.”

“Oh?” Virgil looked up from his notebook. 

The old man cackled. “Of course that’s just a bunch of silly ol’ hootenanny they tell to hope the tourists show up.”

“Well, I suppose it worked for us, sir,” Virgil said with a smile.

_ A small crowd was beginning to form as Roman called for his servant. No strangers had the audacity to approach directly, but Patton could see them slithering closer like snakes, desperate to hear the news. He felt sick. “My love, please, I’m begging you to take a breath.” _

_ “Patton, I’m  _ fine _.” _

_ “I’m not,” Patton whispered. He begged. He pleaded.  _

_ Roman stopped, turning to meet Patton’s gaze. He held his hand out next to him, creating just a  _ small _ amount of space for them both. “My love?” he asked, the words fading away as soon as they left his tongue. “Are you alright?” _

_ “Give the people time to mourn,” he said. Then, pressing his lips oh so softly against Roman’s cheek, whispered, “I’ll marry you in a new moon.” _

_ “A new moon,” Roman repeated, laughing to himself. “We will be married then, my love.” _

_ “Mademoiselle, we must get you home at once,” a servant admonished, taking Roman’s arm. _

_ He pulled away from the touch and rolled his eyes. “Meet me Nowhere, tonight,” he whispered into Patton’s ear, taking extra caution to not be heard by any servants. “I love you.” _

“You lied.”

“What?” Virgil asked. He tossed a piece of apple into the air before catching it in his mouth. 

“You lied to that old man,” Logan restated. “The one who told us about the phantoms. You told him such rumors brought us to Thunder Mesa which is, of  _ course,  _ a falsehood because if you had come to instigate such rumors, like you had claimed to, you would have told me about them beforehand.”

“I also told that woman I’m a travel journalist,” Virgil said with a shrug. “Besides, even if I  _ had  _ known about any ghosts, you don’t believe in the supernatural.”

“I’ve never claimed  _ full  _ disbelief,” he mumbled. Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. “The human brain is hardwired to be afraid of the dark - things we cannot see, things we do not know. I don’t believe in spirits but I do believe that the fear of them is so instilled into us that no matter how much you rationalize them as lies or child’s play, you can never stop fearing them.”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” Virgil said.

“That’s because you believe in them,” he continued. “But tell me, Virgil, if such things as phantoms  _ do  _ exist, do you know everything about them? Could you beat one in a fight using pure knowledge of its strengths and weaknesses? If some ghosts  _ are _ merciful, how do you determine the hostile from the benign?” 

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out.”

Logan grabbed what remained of Virgil’s apple, took a bite out of it, and placed it back in his stunned partner’s hand. “Because no matter if you believe or not, we are all still afraid of what we don’t know and don’t understand. It’s not childish to be afraid of the dark. It’s human.”

_ The dark night sky was a beautiful thing. A million stars twinkling in the night. A million wishes to be made and granted. All the servants were busy and Roman felt the wind against his face as he rode on horseback far outside of town. His clothes, the ones he had left the manor in, were folded up inside of a saddlebag. He had stolen some of his father’s clothes (though, Roman supposed they must’ve been  _ his _ now because of inheritance, though it would be hard to convince a tailor to adjust them to his size) and his long hair was tucked up into a hat. He looked and  _ felt _ like  _ himself _. Like  _ someone _ , instead of no one just pretending to be.  _

_ He looked up at the stars, the same stars that had watched his birth and life, and wondered if they had a plan for him. Oh he knew stars  _ must _ be magical. They must’ve known who he was and who he was  _ meant _ to be. He knew the stars must’ve designed him. (And thought that they must’ve designed Patton too. Why else would they have left traces of themselves in his eyes?)  _

_ Patton was waiting there with a basket in hand and a smile on his face. Roman leapt from the saddle, kicking up dust and sand with his father’s boots. He tied his horse’s lead to a rusty metal gate and smiled fondly as Patton approached. _

_ “Woah,” was all he could mutter. “You look so...” _

_ “Different?” _

“Yourself,”  _ he said. Roman touched his cheek and gave him a quick kiss.  _

_ “I feel like myself,” he said with a smile. _

_ “I brought something for the occasion!” Patton said, holding up his basket. He unraveled a blanket that they both spread out and laid down on, looking up at the stars. Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and rubbed his skin with his thumb. _

_ “This is nice,” he whispered. “Being here. Being with you.” _

_ Patton hummed in agreement.  _

_ “Do you think things will ever be like this again?” Roman asked. “The sky this beautiful and tranquil? The stars watching down over two lovers?” _

_ “I like the way you think,” was all Patton could say. “Your mind is wonderful.” _

_ “I dream of freedom.” _

_ “I brought wine. And some glasses.” He held up a bottle. Roman took it from his hand and uncorked it before taking a swig. He handed the bottle back over to Patton who just laughed before doing the same. _

_ “Let me taste that one more time,” Roman said. Patton held the bottle out for him, but he only took it to move it aside. He grabbed onto Patton’s cheeks and pulled him forward, kissing him deeply and passionately. A few moments of shock passed before Patton began to kiss back. _

_ And the stars watched over them. _

_ And Roman did not know that stars could die.  _

“We should check out the inside of the house,” Virgil declared, tossing the core of his apple over his shoulder. 

“Isn’t that trespassing?”

“I have lawyers,” he justified. “And if I commit enough crimes, the Ravenswoods might actually  _ talk  _ to us!”

“I hope you’re not referring to phantoms.”

Virgil laughed. “I meant the  _ living  _ ones, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Logan said. Looking across the garden he could spot a few tombstones, and he found that, suddenly, he was no longer comfortable sitting in the grass. 

His body was, unsurprisingly, never uncovered. Many of the bodies down in that old mine couldn’t be found. To look would be far too dangerous. The mines were horribly unstable.

“Come on,” Virgil said, standing up. “I’ll hold your hand if you’re scared.” Logan wasn’t scared, a fact he would attest to whenever the events of the Thunder Mesa mission ever came up, but Virgil still took his hand and Logan didn’t dare let go. (For Virgil’s sake, of course.)   


_ They had found Martha’s body, however, and Roman ordered for her to be buried in the garden next to an empty grave for his father. “Let his spirit have a place to rest,” Roman had told himself, sitting down to write another letter. He didn’t know who would see it. He just had to keep writing.  _ To whomever this may find...

Virgil knocked on the door. “FBI, open up!” he yelled, holding back a laugh behind an adolescent smirk.

“Virgil! That’s a crime!” Logan said. Virgil’s lips moved as he began to speak but Logan quieted him by putting up a hand and continuing, “A crime that no lawyers or Hightowers can exonerate you for.”

Virgil rolled his eyes in faux exasperation.  _ “Fiiiiine.” _ He knocked again, a little louder. “Excuse me! I’m Agent Albert Falls, I’m with the Slater Excavation Association.” He pulled his badge out of his pocket and held it to the light, aiming for any windows one might be peering from. After years, Logan could finally see it. A curved letter S with an E on the top and an A on the bottom. It was beautiful but he couldn’t help but wonder what had driven Virgil to revealing it with Logan right at his side. Was it trust? 

_ Roman dipped his quill in ink. _

Or was it desperation?

Virgil stepped inside. “I am putting my identification away in my pocket,” he yelled to seemingly no one. 

“I thought you said there were maids here.”

“I thought there were.”

“I  _ saw  _ one of them,” Logan said, though the memory felt fuzzy now. Was it just a trick of the light? “At least, I believed I did.”

“It’s not childish to be afraid of the dark,” Virgil teased. He was still holding Logan’s hand. 

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“About the ghosts?”

“About the  _ law.” _

Virgil laughed. “You’re being a  _ baby.” _

“Yes, well, I do believe that’s what is popular on Twitter these days and if that’s what it takes to get you to  _ listen  _ to me then gosh  _ darnit _ , Virgil, I guess I’m baby.”

Virgil pulled out his phone and hit record. “Mind saying that last part again?”

“I’m... I’m baby?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” He put his phone away with a satisfied smirk. “I’m sending that to Remy later.”

“Don’t you  _ dare!”  _ Logan yelled, smacking his arm. 

Virgil just laughed and continued through the manor. Occasionally either of them would peak through doorways, looking for any sign of another human. (Hell, eventually they started looking for ghosts and blue women just to avoid being alone in that large house.)

Logan turned the handle of a door, half expecting it to be locked, and it opened with ease. It was dark, but he could see the light from the hallway reflected in a mirror. He tugged in Virgil’s hand and said, “Come on, let’s check it out.”

_ The vanity was a nice place to sit and write. To exist. To think. And, of course, there were wedding plans to think of. Funerals. Memorials.  _ Life. _ To live far, far away. He continued to write. _ Recently, Janus Ravenswood, my father... _ No, that was too personal. Too kind. He smudged the ink with his thumb, blowing lightly on the rest of the parchment to avoid disrupting any other words.  _ Janus Ravenswood, our town’s founder...

Virgil took a flashlight out of his bag and looked around. His mind was turning as his fingers brushed over every object and grain of wood on the table. He was always like this on missions. Contemplative, both aware of everything and spaced out all at once. He always had to  _ touch  _ and  _ feel.  _ (Logan always found himself impressed at Virgil’s constant lack of splinters.) 

Logan sat down slowly on the stool, wondering if the wood was even structurally sound enough to support his weight. He found a drawer and tried to open it, but found that it was locked. Looking around, he could see no obvious place for a key and, quite frankly, Virgil was too far in his own headspace to provide any proper assistance. His fingers began to drum with thought- one hand on the desk and one next to his seat- and he began to wonder if- ...hollow. He froze for a moment before knocking again on the seat under him. There was a hollow space there. He sat up and felt around the cushion looking for- “Aha,” he muttered under his breath, smiling as he opened a latch which allowed the cushion to detach from the rest of the stool. Inside was a small compartment which held a brass key; he slid it into the keyhole and unlocked the drawer without issue. 

“Hey, Virg, any matches?” 

Virgil shined the flashlight in his eyes. “Do  _ you  _ trust fire in this old ass house?”

Logan laughed, taking the flashlight from Virgil’s hand. There were piles of papers inside. He took them out and spread them across the desk. He picked up one and held the light over it as he began to read aloud, “To whomever this may find...”

“Sounds cryptic enough.”

“Recently, Janus Ravenswood, our town’s founder, passed away...”

Many have passed. _ Roman wondered, while he was writing, if anyone else would be writing such a letter. If their parchment would be stained and ruined with their tears as they wrote of the deaths. Their sons and husbands, workers who had been friends, women and children who died under the collapsing buildings. He wondered if there were anyone- any single person in the world- who would mourn the death of his father. He wondered if  _ he _ did.  _

“...While it is a sad time for us all, I cannot find it in me to be sad....”

_ His engagement ring shined in the light. If he wrote of happiness and joy, would the eyes of _ whomever this may  _ find forgive him for shedding no tears? Would the stars?  _

...but overall, I find myself aligned with the changing of the times...

“New things are coming,” Logan continued reading. “Better things. I may finally find freedom with the Ravenswoods gone.”

I am to be married soon. _ Roman smiled at a picture of Patton that sat on his vanity. _ Marriage means freedom, doesn’t it? 

_ “Melanie, dear,” one of the maids called, ripping Roman back to reality. “There’s a pastry chef here to talk to you about the wedding.” _

_ “Oh, of course!” he quickly signed his letter and made his way to the door. “How could I have forgotten?” _

“...With love and careful regards,” Logan finished. “Signed Roman.” He looked at the name carefully. “Who was Roman?”

Virgil shrugged. “Probably a servant?”

“This must be Melanie’s room though. All the other letters are addressed to her.”

“Maybe Roman was a correspondent.”

Logan scanned over the letters looking to see the name again. Yet, he found nothing. “I suppose that’s the only logical answer.”

“Unless Rowan fucked up his own name,” Virgil teased, reading through a separate letter. 

“Rowan?” 

“Rowan D. Falls,” Virgil said with a wink. “We get around.”

Logan folded the letter from Roman and put it in his pocket. He deadpanned, “Yes, well, I’ll keep that in mind next time I need dick.”

Virgil snorted and lightly hit his shoulder. “Let’s go find some more spooky shit.”

_ The night before the wedding, Roman and Patton found themselves lying in the parlor. They were both tipsy on wine and high off of adrenaline. Roman found that he couldn’t stop kissing Patton- his mouth, his cheeks, his neck- he was too enamoured and too inebriated. And Patton was so soft. His hands were rough and calloused from a life of manual labor but his lips were so tender and they tasted of red wine and sunny kisses.  _

_ “You seem-” He let out a small gasp. “-very  _ excited _ to get to the honeymoon, darlin’.” _

_ Roman hummed in response, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Well  _ that _ is nothing we haven’t done before.” He laughed as Patton blushed, taking another sip of wine. “But I’m very excited to spend the rest of my life with you.” He kissed his lips. “Loving you.” He kissed his neck.  _ “Cherishing _ you, mon amour.” _

_ “We’re going to go far away from here,” Patton said. “And everyone else will see you as the man I always have.” _

_ “Cheers,” Roman said, raising his glass. “To the last dress I’ll ever wear.” _

_ “Cheers!” _

_ Roman leaned in for another kiss, this one deeper and slower than the previous ones. He took all the time he could spare, wrapped up with Patton in his embrace, cherishing every lingering touch. He could’ve ended his story in that moment- lasting forever like words on a page- and he would’ve been happy. But stories continue far after their happy endings. And stars can die.  _

Thunder Mesa is a ghost town _. At least, that’s what Patton thought as he watched the sun rise over the town. He adjusted his suit and headed inside the ever looming Ravenswood Manor. Servants ushered him to a room to properly get prepared where he couldn't risk “dooming the wedding” by “seeing the bride too early.” But Patton knew better. He knew he certainly wasn’t marrying any bride.  _

_ Roman was up in his bedroom getting far more attention than he was comfortable with and wondering how many times he could hear the name “Melanie” before he snapped. The dress was a little too tight and the lace was making his neck itch. In the mirror he didn’t see himself. What he saw hardly looked like a _ relative. _ But what he saw at least looked like  _ freedom. _ Melanie Ravenswood would die so Roman Evans could exist.  _

_ “Let’s get you married, dear,” a maid said with a smile. _

_ Roman smiled back and said, “Nothing will ever be the same for me. Not ever again.” He couldn’t stop smiling.  _

_ Patton was having his suit retailored for what felt like the millionth time and his hair restyled because “you can’t keep putting your hat on, it’s not proper.” But Patton didn’t care about proper or fancy suits. He didn’t care about putting on a show. He only cared about Roman.  _

_ He heard a voice calling to him. From up, up, upstairs. It sounded like Roman, but rougher. Deeper. The way he would try to talk when they were alone and daydreaming about being themselves. That was one privilege Patton knew he had. He had known for years about his attraction towards both men and women, but he knew what happened to the boys who kissed boys. He sometimes felt lucky in a guilty, selfish way for falling in love with a boy who looked like a girl. At least, while they looked like this, they could be affectionate without worrying about anything more than the Ravenswood reputation. He knew when Roman was Roman they wouldn’t have such a privilege. But he pushed those feelings aside, knowing that Roman being himself was more important. Patton could sacrifice a few kisses for Roman’s happiness. That was what love was, wasn’t it? _

_ He wandered to the voice, charmed- enamoured even- by it. Intoxicated on the memory of wine kisses and sex in the middle of Nowhere. He travelled up the steps, noticing how it got darker the further up he travelled. There was more of an echo. There were less witnesses.  _

“Beauty lived here once,” Virgil said, reading off an inscription as they wandered into a room of portraits. 

_ Patton struggled with a stubborn wooden door before finding himself stuck in the dusty attic.  _

_ And beauty lives here still. _

“There sure are a lot of pictures of Melanie,” Logan said. “I mean, I know they’re rich but  _ only  _ Melanie?” 

“Not just Melanie,” Virgil teased, letting out a wolf whistle in front of one of the pictures. It showed Melanie, a young woman who must’ve been in her late teens, with a slightly older man in a rowboat together. “Falls got game.”

“Rowan, huh?” Logan asked. “Clearly you don’t get the Falls Family looks. Unfortunate.”

Virgil let out a gasp and a poorly concealed laugh. “Excuse me?!”

_ “Do you know if Rowan is still in town?” Roman asked. “I mean, Captain Falls.” _

_ The maid shook her head. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle. I believe he left port quite some time ago. Would you like me to send out a message?” _

_ “No, no, that’s alright,” he said. “There was just something I... wanted to speak with him about. Before my honeymoon.” _

_ The maid shot him a wide eyed look before gazing back to the floor. He didn’t dare ask what she was thinking.  _

_ “I think it’s best for us to be friends,” he continued. “He and my father were on the road to becoming business partners, after all.”  _

_ “Of course, of course,” the maid agreed. Roman glared at her from his peripheral vision, quieting her completely.  _

_ Patton peered through the dark room. There were no windows and the only light source was his half opened exit. The door slammed shut. _

“Did you hear that?” Virgil asked, freezing up. He grabbed Logan’s hand again. 

“Hear what?” Logan whispered. The lights went out. 

_ “Hello?” Patton called out. “Darlin’, is that-” A gloved hand slipped over his mouth. He tried to call out, to scream, but it was no use. His arms were being held against his body. He had no way to fight. No way to scream. The gloved hand moved to cover his nose and he couldn’t breath as he felt something slither against his neck. _

_ I have more beauty to show you. _

“Virgil, it’s okay, we just lost power for a second,” Logan said. The lights flickered for a moment before coming back on. They were staring at a picture of a man in a rowboat, headed straight for a dive down a waterfall. And for a moment, just a split tiny second, Logan could’ve sworn that man was Virgil. “I suppose you look more like the Falls than I thought.”

“Logan, that’s not the same- no, it  _ can’t  _ be the same picture.”

“I haven’t moved. Have you?”

“Are you  _ seriously  _ suggesting that it just  _ changed?” _

“Perhaps an illusion,” Logan suggested. 

“This house is  _ old _ .” Virgil looked around, his state of distress only becoming more apparent on his face. “Where’s the door?”

Logan scanned the room noticing that their previous entrance was, in fact, nowhere in sight. He noticed that the portraits seemed to continue shifting, though he said nothing to avoid alerting his companion. “It would appear to be gone. How curious.”

“We’re going to die!”

“Don’t be so ridiculous.” He stepped towards one particular portrait, the only one that wasn’t changing or stretching. A portrait he recognized from his previous research as one Janus Ravenswood. He wasn’t a particularly attractive man, yet he had a sharp jaw and features that reminded Logan of the marble statues of gods, goddesses, heroes, and legends of greek and roman myths. He felt the frame to find any sort of button or clue. (He had accompanied one Remy Hightower to many escape rooms and only saw his current situation as a more sudden and unplanned event of that same nature. Clues were always hidden behind paintings.) The lights flickered again, turning white like lightning. Janus Ravenswood became a haunting skeleton. And then he was back.  _ Just a trick of the light,  _ Logan told himself. 

Roman.  _ That was all he could think as the darkness of the attic was replaced by the bright light of death.  _ I love you, Roman. 

The lights flickered again and Virgil gasped, yelling, “Oh my God!” 

And there from the ceiling was a man reduced to flesh and bones, dangling by a noose. 

“Oh, my...”

“We need to get out of here,” Virgil said, kicking at the walls to break down an exit. 

“This way!” Logan called, not questioning  _ why  _ or  _ how  _ there was suddenly a new exit leading to a different corridor.  _ Why  _ and  _ how  _ didn’t matter anymore, they were too dangerous. They dove through the opening and found themselves at the bottom of a velvet staircase in what seemed to be an empty ballroom. If Logan focused, he could’ve heard music. It was quiet and muffled, like someone had been playing it in a different room, but music nonetheless. If he took his glasses off and let the world blur, he could see lights and colors moving and even dancing to the music.

Logan kept his glasses on and he tried very,  _ very  _ hard not to focus. He felt around and took Virgil’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m quitting. I’m quitting my job and the Hightowers and I’m becoming a waiter. I’d rather deal with a thousand Karens than what we just saw.”

“Good luck quitting the Slater Exca-whatever the fuck you said earlier.”

Virgil glared at him. “Not. The.  _ Fucking.  _ Time.”

Logan took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Light poured over them from giant windows. He closed his eyes. He could hear the music. 

_ The music was grand. It was all grand. People were dancing and celebrating. It was happy and joyous. It was everything the perfect wedding should be.  _

_...Except Patton was late. Which was fine, it’s fine, Roman kept telling himself it was fine. He kept telling the guests it was fine.  _

_ Hours passed. _

_ Roman wouldn’t lose hope, he  _ couldn’t  _ lose hope. Patton was his way out. He was the love of his life. “Oh, Patton, where are you?” he whispered. _

_ Guests began to lose patience. Servants paid off caterers and musicians. After twelve hours even the priest had left, promising to pray for them both. Roman sat on the velvet staircase, watching the party die. Feeling his heart breaking in his chest. He closed his eyes and felt the tears fall silently down his cheeks. If he listened carefully, he could hear the music.... _

If Logan listened closely, he could even hear laughter. He stood up and took a deep breath, letting himself readjust to their surroundings. “How can we get out of here?”

“I’m about to jump out of one of those windows,” Virgil grumbled.

“There’s no ground for nearly a mile outside of those windows and, regardless of you dragging me to shit like this, you’re my friend; therefore, I’d rather you stay alive.”

Virgil groaned. “I  _ hate  _ this place.”

“I’m choosing our next travel plans. I vote Hawaii. I hear it’s relaxing this time of year.”

“Just no boats,” he said with a shudder. “Not after that cursed family portrait.”

“Cursed,” Logan repeated, letting the word settle in his mouth like cotton candy. There was a voice in the distance. Muffled. A glow. “Interesting.”

Virgil stood and stayed close behind him. “Logan?”

_ “Patton?” _

There was confusion in his voice.

_ “Patton, where are you?” _

“Logan, what’s going on?”

Logan felt along the wall and found a hidden door. He took Virgil’s hand and a flashlight and said, “Everything is going to be okay.”

He closed the door behind him and a blue glow appeared in the distance. As the door closed shut he could hear the music again, it was louder this time. Definite. “Logan,” Virgil whispered again, “what’s going on?”

He listened to the music and kept his eyes on the glow. 

_ Goblins and ghoulies, creatures of fright _

_ We summon you now to dance through the night. _

“I’m going crazy,” he whispered. “I swear, I’m hearing things.”

“We can be sane later, it’s fine.”

Roman picked up a candelabra and began to walk through the house, careful not to trip over his own dress. Patton must’ve been in the house. He could find him. He could make things  _ right.  _ ...but didn’t that mean he had to know what went wrong.   


_ Esprits et fantômes sur vos fièrs destriers, _

_ Escortez dans la nuit la belle fiancée  _

“I think I see a light,” Logan whispered. “In the distance. Maybe it’s a way out.”

Roman kept moving forward. It had been a year since the wedding. Where had Patton gone? His candle flickered.

“I don’t see how we have any other choice.”

_ Warlocks and witches, answer this call _

_ Your presence is wanted at this ghostly ball _

Virgil stumbled backwards, holding a hand to his temple. He was in pain, but before Logan could ask, he felt it too. The headache felt like getting hit with a rock, while images of the house flashed through his mind. Images of the house old and decaying. Images of it at its peak and full of life. Memories that weren’t  _ his.  _ The images and memories began to overlap. Life and death and decay and laughter all together. Logan looked over to Virgil, who was barely holding himself together. He grabbed his arms and tried to steady him. “Are you alright?”

Through gritted teeth, Virgil said, “This is worse than Gracey Manor.”

“Gracey Manor wasn’t  _ that  _ bad.”

“I nearly lost my head,” Virgil commented. “To an ex Hightower, no less.”

“The grudge you hold against that family never ceases to amaze me.”

Virgil pulled in on himself for a moment, another wave of pain. He took a deep breath and stabilized himself. He opened his eyes and Logan saw that they had a subtle blue glow to them. For Virgil’s sake, he decided not to mention this. “Well, when Remy owes you two hundred bucks, tell me how  _ you  _ feel about them.”

_ Des douze coups de minuit aux matines sonnantes, _

_ Nous valserons ensemble, macabre débutante _

“Patton,” Roman whispered. “Patton. Patton.”  _ Patton, Patton,  _ Patton.

_ Join now the spirits in nuptial doom, _

_ A ravishing bride, a vanishing groom. _

“Fucking finally,” Virgil said, grabbing onto a loose board in the wall. He grabbed on tight and pulled, ripping the board away from the rest of the wall. “Are you going to help me or what?”

“Right, right.” Logan grabbed onto the wall and the two of them pulled until there was a hole large enough for them to both escape. He fell back against the grass, finding himself next to a six foot ditch in the ground. He could hear distant laughter.

“Nope!” he yelled loudly. “I do  _ not  _ give a fuck and you  _ can’t  _ make me!”

“Uh, Logan-”

“Nope! I don’t care. I am actively refusing to care. Tell your ‘work friends’ to kiss and eat my entire ass because I simply do not, can not, and will not give one single shit right now.”

_ “Logan!” _

_ “What?!” _

“I see a way out,” Virgil said. “I think.”

Logan sat up and saw the long stretch of forest and graveyard in front of him. He looked around, expecting to see Thunder Mesa below the hill. Yet, there was nothing. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if they  _ were  _ still on the hill. But of course they were. They had to be. 

“I guess we have no other choice, huh?” He picked himself off of the ground and walked into the forest, trying not to notice the bones sticking out from the dirt of the disturbed graveyard. He prayed the sound of snapping under his feet was only dried wood. He could hear the wind rustling through the trees and he reached for Virgil’s hand, holding tightly onto the other. “I’m sorry for giving you shit back there.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Virgil whispered. “We’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

They kept walking and Logan could occasionally hear the echo of laughter. He chose to ignore it. Yet, when he heard the creaking of old hinges he stopped completely, listening for the sound again. It was from one of the graves, as though a skeleton was ready to come out.

“Logan?” Virgil asked. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” he said, as he stared at the exposed coffin a few feet away from them. “Nothing at all.” Though a chill ran up his spine and some primitive instinct reminded him that you’re never too old to be afraid of the dark. 

“We should keep going,” Virgil said. 

Logan took a deep breath, trying not to spiral into a full blown panic attack. He had a goal: Survival. He took Virgil’s hand and closed his eyes. He focused on grounding himself. He needed to focus on reality- things that made sense. Ghosts weren’t real. But the heat of the desert was. Dehydration was. Fear and an overactive imagination? Both terribly real.

But then the gust of hot air hit. And the music began to play.

“Logan?” Virgil asked.

He snapped his eyes open and looked at his partner. As they locked eyes, Logan saw a light in Virgil’s eyes. A blue light. A  _ sign.  _ He was staring ahead, his eyes wide and his face growing paler and paler. It was as if he had seen a ghost. 

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Logan kept telling himself. Again and again and again. But only a fool could deny what was right in front of him. In all of its terrible glory, Thunder Mesa. The ghost town. 

Ghoul-faced townspeople danced in the streets and filled the bars. Each one of them painted green and glowing. It was so  _ alive! ... _ yet something deep,  _ deep  _ within the two boys told them it was anything but. 

A bullet whirred past their faces and a man laughed wickedly, as though the potential loss of lives was only part of a juvenile prank. Logan squeezed Virgil’s hand tightly and said, “We need to get out of here. And  _ soon.” _

“How?”

Another gunshot. Logan grabbed Virgil and the two of them ducked into an alleyway between taverns. Their hearts were pounding. “That’s-” he took a deep breath- “an excellent question, my friend.” He saw two skeletons a few feet in front of them, both in ragged dress. “I have an idea.”

“That is  _ so  _ fucked up,” Virgil said, though the hint of pride in his voice was still detectable. “I’m totally telling Remy about this.”

Logan pulled his shoes off quickly, as to make the removal of his pants easier. “How  _ dare  _ you,” he said. “I am not a Hightower.”

“You should marry into the family,” Virgil teased, his words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. He crammed his clothes and Logan’s into his bag. “I’m setting you up with someone and marrying you into that family.”

“You are the  _ worst.” _

“You have a dead man’s jeans on your ass.”

_ “Your  _ jeans are about to be dead man jeans.” He looked over the bench and saw Big Thunder Mountain dead ahead. “Virgil, I’m afraid to ask but... where  _ are  _ we?”

Virgil sighed and said, “I need to stop going to haunted mansions.” 

“Everything is the same but...”

“Alive.”

“Undead, seems to be a better word.” Logan pondered for a moment. “That  _ is  _ Big Thunder, isn’t it?”

Virgil stared at the mountain and said, “There was something Remy told me about this place...” He narrowed his eyes, watching the mountain for a moment before taking notice of the busy bar patrons. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He sighed and rubbed at his temples.  _ “Unfortunately.”  _

“Then follow my lead,” he said. “Wait-” He carefully took Logan’s glasses and slid them off of his face.    
  
Logan furrowed his brow as the world became less defined. He couldn’t see anything past Virgil- and even he was hard to fully place. “What are you doing?”

“It’s the 1860s here,” Virgil said. “And your glasses are  _ very  _ twenty seventeen.”

Logan frowned. “Am I supposed to just hold onto you like a small child then?” He couldn’t see much, but he  _ could  _ manage to figure out Virgil’s faux innocent grin. “I hate you so much.”

They heard another gunshot go off, but no bullet found them. Nonetheless, both men knew they had to move. Virgil tipped his cowboy hat at a man with a medal that read “Mayor” and Logan awkwardly repeated the gesture. He knew the easiest way to stay together was to grab Virgil’s hand, but he also knew the romantic connotation that held and didn’t think a ghost town stuck in the 1860s would be very appreciative of two homos. He awkwardly shuffled his feet behind his companion and flinched whenever he heard gunshots or the sound of broken glass. 

He kept shuffling straight when he suddenly got pulled into an ally behind one of the non-bar establishments. He began to panic, the dark light of the ally making his blurry vision even more useless. 

“It’s just me,” Virgil whispered calmly. “I have a plan.”

“Where are we?”

“Just a shop away from the mountain. There’s an abandoned mine cart inside- all the workers are getting completely shitfaced out here.” He pulled Logan’s glasses from his bag and handed them to the other man who inspected them carefully.

“They’re dirty,” Logan pouted. “And my cleaning kit is at home.”

“Just use your shirt.”

_ “This  _ shirt?!” he asked incredulously.

Virgil rolled his eyes so hard that he actually felt a small amount of pain. “We need to get into that mine  _ fast.  _ We don’t know what these people will do if they see us being suspicious.”

Logan grumbled under his breath,  _ “‘People’  _ is putting it rather delicately, don’t you think?”

Virgil grabbed his arm and said, “Let’s go,” running off before Logan had any chance of protest.

“HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!” one of the ghouls shouted.

“RUN!” Virgil yelled, pulling Logan even harder as the two charged at the mountain. At the sound of even more gunshots, Logan glanced over his shoulder and saw a small crowd chasing them. It didn’t take long before “small” became an inaccurate adjective. 

“In here!” Virgil yelled, scooping Logan up into his arms and jumping into a mining cart. He picked up a can from the floor of the cart and hit it against a track switch before slamming his shoulder against the front wall of the cart, enough to get it moving. 

“Virgil!” Logan yelped as the cart went soaring down below the ground. They sped up quickly, finding themselves in pitch black darkness. The cart began to slow down, moving across an even track and Logan finally found himself able to calm down.

Of course, like most adventures with Virgil Falls, it didn’t end there. 

They found themselves plummeting on another decline and Logan screamed, mixing a string of swears and curses upon Virgil’s family name. However, in a strange turn of events, they soon found themselves travelling upwards as bats squeaked and flew around them. Logan ducked, clutching Virgil’s arms as his fear once again skyrocketed. He told himself this would be the end, no more adventures, yet he knew deep down that this wasn’t the end. He’d always be at the ready whenever Virgil needed a companion for a “work trip”. He knew he’d be trying harder and harder again to learn what  _ S.E.A  _ really was and how to join. He knew only death could be the end of these adventures. And nothing scared him more than his own loyalty. 

They rose higher and higher and saw the light of lanterns placed around the caves. The yellow light shone across the mars colored stone and Logan looked upon Virgil, the glowing yet broken halo surrounding his face and felt dread at the sight before him. He moved his arms back towards his own person and presented some space between their two bodies. 

They climbed ever more until the pinhole spark in the distance revealed itself as a source of light far more significant than that of the lanterns. “Are we out of the woods yet?” Logan asked.

“Either that or we’ve just taken the  _ wildest ride in the wilderness!”  _

Logan frowned. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Keep your fingers crossed and summon all your unused birthday wishes, you sad, little man,” Virgil said. “You’re about to see God and beg for forgiveness.”

_ Roman was weak.. tired.. old. He should’ve been with Patton, growing old together as men, instead of sitting in front of his mirror weeping as his wedding dress grew yellow and tattered around him. That face haunted him, the one he could faintly see in the mirror. His father’s. He walked through the house, seeing the unwanted guests and longing for the days that only the ghosts of metaphor plagued him. Roman was weak... tired... old. He opened the heavy old door to the garden for himself. Every servant he’d had was either retired or dead now. Some were both. He walked out through the garden and into the family graveyard, seeing a bright star in the distance. But, no, it wasn’t a star.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Tears welled in Roman’s eyes as shock brought him to his knees. “Patton...!”

The bright sun became nearly blinding as they found themselves on top of a hill, just for too short of a time to see if they were alive or well and truly dead. The cart raced downwards, spiralling in circles around the mountain, going up and down small hills as the two screamed and cried for escape. Logan could hardly think straight as he screamed his throat raw. 

They soared over what felt like an infinite stretch of track and Logan finally let himself focus on his surroundings. The sun was a golden hue that brought about the death of day. The wind pushed back his hair and he leaned his head onto Virgil’s shoulder, letting out a sigh and waiting for the world to end. The cart eventually came to a stop in front of the old town full of old people who stared at them for a moment, as if wondering what relevance the mountain had to them while simultaneously considering whether or not the answer actually mattered. 

They took a walk through the cemetery, at Logan’s insistence, before heading back to their hotel. Logan sat on a plot of grass between graves and unfolded the letter in his pocket, taking another moment to read through it. He folded the letter back up and buried it in the ground, setting a rock on top of the freshly disturbed dirt. He took a piece of old wood and carved the name into the wood before pausing to think. He placed the plaque into the ground and sat back to look at his work.  _ Roman Ravenswood  _ laid to rest at last. 

The car ride was mostly silent between the two of them with the radio buzzing in and out as the signal was gained and lost. The hot wind went in and out of the car through cracked open windows as it howled like the souls of the damned. Logan knew he was one of the damned for he had sold his soul to Virgil long ago and he knew now that he’d surpassed the return policy for it. He wondered, in some sick and twisted part of his mind, if Emile Picani had been suffering Stockholm syndrome when he agreed to marry Remy Hightower. Logan wondered if he, too, were suffering from some sort of illness when he thought back to the horrors he’d just barely escaped yet craved more of that twisted adventure. 

He glanced at Virgil, no longer illuminated by the fires of Hell, and saw the dark circles that shadowed his eyes and the wrinkles that formed within them. He glanced at Virgil and knew he probably looked the same. Dirty. Messy.  _ Tired.  _

They got to their room and the first thing Virgil did was fall onto one of the beds. Logan stood in the bathroom, his shirt lazily folded on the counter as he inspected his injuries. Nothing too upsetting, mostly bruises from various falls and the scars across his chest (the only mark on him that  _ wasn’t  _ from some life-risking adventure). He took a washcloth into some far-too-hot water and sloppily cleaned his face, just trying to feel like a functional human again. 

“I still have some of that wine, you know,” Virgil called. “If you’re interested.”

Logan looked up at the mirror, his eyes adjusting to his reflection as water dripped down onto the counter. “Are you suggesting we get drunk in order to attempt to erase  _ everything  _ from our memories?”

“I was planning on being more on the  _ tipsy  _ side of the spectrum, but I wouldn’t blame you for trying to black out.”

Logan let out a deep breath and grabbed two paper coffee cups, placing them next to Virgil as he carefully took the bottle out of his bag. He poured a cup and handed it to Logan before pouring one for himself and saying, “To happy endings?”

“To surviving,” Logan toasted.

“Cheers,” Virgil said. 

They both took swigs of the wine and started their next adventure of watching cooking competitions while lowering their sobriety as much as possible. A start, but not an end. Logan knew nothing with Virgil ever ended, and as he took a sip of old wine out of his cup he wondered, deep down, if he liked it better that way. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Phantom Manor AU!! I started this in June and I've been ecstatic to share this ever since. I poured my heart and soul into this fic so I hope you enjoyed! I'd love to give a HUGE shoutout to my friend Corn for betaing. Please consider leaving a comment and some kudos! Happy Halloween!


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